


from the shore, out to sea

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon Compliant, Cock Warming, Dissociation, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: Martin grabs Peter by the wrist and drags him away from the wall, further into the warehouse until they’re settled in a small, dark alcove amidst piles of cargo boxes. When he settles Peter down on one of the crates, Martin thinks he looks like little more than a vague smear against a dark backdrop. Is this how it looks on him? Martin has felt himself slip into the far background before, at the Institute. He’s been able to walk around most of the building without anyone noticing him these days. Is this what they would see, if anyone cared to look hard enough?Martin pushes the thoughts away. He absolutely can’t deal with this meeting on his own, and Peter is useless when he’s like this. Not to mention the danger if he slips off into the Lonely completely, leaving Martin to fend for himself. He doesnotwant to get caught in the warehouse alone.He knows what needs to be done, and Martin is quick to fall to his knees between Peter’s legs.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	from the shore, out to sea

**Author's Note:**

> Something short and simple, and a little silly. Special thanks to Zyka for beta-reading and enabling my strange affection for this comically inadvisable ship. 
> 
> a couple cws: 
> 
> > an ill-advised, sexual office relationship  
> > martin is trans, vague/neutral terms are used for him in this fic  
> > peter starts dissociating/fading into the Lonely at the start. I haven't written something like this before so let me know if anything seems off!  
> >> while he's in this state, martin has sex with peter; it's implied this is a situation that has happened more than once and there's blanket consent, but i just thought i'd mention that consent is not explicitly given by peter in the actual fic

Martin thinks he might be developing a deep, if benign, hatred of the ocean. Which is too bad, because there are a lot of poems he likes that are about the sea, or the beach, or boats or something. But standing here in a dark, cold seaside warehouse _this_ early in the morning really is _not_ cultivating any fondness for it. He can hear the waves crashing against rocks not too far beyond the grey brick of the walls. There’s a window open on the second floor, visible from where he and Peter stand near the back wall, and Martin can hear the cry of gulls. The sky outside is still dark. 

“Did we really have to come out here so early?” Martin asks, his voice dry and dull. There are very few perks that come with spending so much time in Peter Lukas’ presence, but it is nice, not having to disguise his tone. He doesn’t have to inject it with a false warmth, or worry overly-much about what he says exactly. Beyond the obvious, there’s not really anything Martin needs to keep hidden from Peter. It affords him an interesting level of freedom that’s been notably absent with his other relationships thus far. 

Just a foot away, Peter shrugs and sighs, sounding just as annoyed as Martin. “I’ll tell you, I do hate dealing with this lot. They’re essential, and always have good information for me, but must they _insist_ on the face-to-face conferences?” He pauses, then adds, “If I wasn’t sure they’d sacrifice you to their lousy god without a second thought, I would have definitely left this chore for you.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Martin snaps. “I really do love sitting through all those asinine meetings in your stead.” 

When he turns to glare at Peter, the man is smiling back, as pleasantly bland as always. “That’s good! Because I love not having to go to them. You know how I am, Martin-”

“Yes, yes -- newsflash, Peter, we all hate going to meetings and dealing with investors and whatever.” 

“But not everyone has such a lovely assistant who will go for them,” Peter says, as if that counters anything Martin just said. “Aren’t I a lucky man?”

“You’re _something_ ,” Martin grumbles, and they both fall quiet. 

A few moments later, he hears Peter mutter something, but it doesn’t seem directed at Martin, so he continues to stare off toward the window. He can just barely see a star through the grimey, broken glass. What time is it? They’ve been waiting at least an hour… 

Martin takes out his phone to check and, seeing the time, grumbles aloud, “How long do they expect us to just stand around here? What happens if they don’t show up?”

He expects an answer. When he doesn’t get one, Martin turns to look at Peter. “Did you hear me? What happens if-”

Peter’s not looking at him. His gaze has drifted off and away, somewhere too far for Martin to see. Martin takes in his stature, realizing the man is swaying ever so slightly where he stands. “Peter?”

Martin walks to stand in front of Peter, who doesn’t register his presence at all. His eyes, already such a pale color, are almost white, and it’s eerie, if familiar by now. Martin frowns deeply and shakes his boss’ shoulder. “Peter? Peter, can you hear me?”

Peter doesn’t react, blinking slowly and taking long, deep breaths. The sound of the waves and birds outside are suddenly much louder. Martin sees the way Peter’s breath is already visible, forming wisps in the air in front of his face. When he looks down, Martin can see fog gathering at Peter’s feet.

“Goddammit, Peter,” Martin growls. He takes the man’s shoulders and gives him a rough shake, but it’s too late -- he’s too far gone for anything like that to work. Martin can hear him humming some dreary tune. There’s less definition in his body; lines and colors melt together. Martin grabs Peter by the wrist and drags him away from the wall, further into the warehouse until they’re settled in a small, dark alcove amidst piles of cargo boxes. When he settles Peter down on one of the crates, Martin thinks he looks like little more than a vague smear against a dark backdrop. Is this how it looks on him? Martin has felt himself slip into the far background before, at the Institute. He’s been able to walk around most of the building without anyone noticing him these days. Is this what they would see, if anyone cared to look hard enough? 

Martin pushes the thoughts away. He absolutely can’t deal with this meeting on his own, and Peter is useless when he’s like this. Not to mention the danger if he slips off into the Lonely completely, leaving Martin to fend for himself. He does _not_ want to get caught in the warehouse alone.

He knows what needs to be done, and Martin is quick to fall to his knees between Peter’s legs. Trying not to think on how he’s gotten much too used to this, Martin makes quick work of Peter’s belt and pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. Taking hold of Peter’s cock, Martin gently works the soft member with his hands. Once it’s a bit more stiff, he rolls the foreskin back enough to reveal the head, and takes it into his mouth. The next few moments are spent bringing Peter’s cock to attention; Martin cups Peter’s balls with one hand and keeps working the shaft with the other, all the while taking more and more of it into the heat of his mouth. When Peter gets like this, his entire body becomes too yielding, too cold. It takes longer than it should for his cock to swell and firm up. But Martin’s used to this, and he gets it there.

Martin takes the entirety of Peter’s length into his throat and just lets it sit there. He holds his breath, telling himself he’s doing what he _has_ to, that he’s _not_ relishing the feeling of a full, heavy cock resting in his mouth, the odd pressure of it against his throat. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of his eyes, but Martin’s gag reflex is one thing he has well under control by now. Instead he pulls it out and in a few times, keeping up the stimulation. If he’s enjoying it, well, no one has to know. 

Above, he hears Peter’s breath catch a few times, but there’s no further movement or acknowledgement. Fine, Martin was expecting that. There’s mist still clinging to the man’s form, staining the cuffs of his coat and trying to hide in his hair. Martin knows what to do to dispel it. 

When he pulls his mouth off Peter, Martin keeps pumping with one hand as he clumsily pulls down his own pants. He’s already wet with the thought of what has to come next. Still, Martin devotes a few seconds to working himself open with his fingers. When he stands and climbs into Peter’s lap, he’s panting. One hand comes up to grab the man’s hair, unsettling his hat so it falls onto the crate; the other hand, wet with his own slick, guides Peter’s cock until it’s resting against his hole. 

“C’mon Peter,” Martin grits through his teeth, slowly sinking down on the man’s cock. “Come back… Come back to me. I need you here with me now, alright? C’mon-”

The pace is slow at first. There are no hands at his waist to hold him steady, and Martin’s uncomfortable kneeling on the wooden crates. But the rock of his hips is good and languid, firmly pressed into Peter’s lap. Martin lets himself pant heavy, warm breaths against Peter’s neck. He closes his eyes and focuses on the heat of his own body, tries to share his warmth with Peter, rubbing it into the man’s shoulders, his cheeks. 

By degrees, Peter’s skin becomes less intangible, less chilly. The weak, broken humming he’s been keeping up dissolves into something that comes from deeper in his chest. Martin almost misses the feeling of hands climbing up his legs. Palms settle beneath his thighs. Fingers creep, tugging at flesh, digging in. 

“Hmmm.” Peter’s beard scratches Martin’s cheek when he turns it into the younger man’s neck. “Well. This is a pleasant surprise.” 

“Shut up,” Martin moans, then adjusts his position so that he can grind more forcefully against Peter. “Let’s get this over with. We’ve still got to m-meet your- _mmff_ \- contacts.” 

“I’ve no problem with that,” says Peter, and in a second the gears shift and Martin is being fucked quite thoroughly. Large, sturdy hands guide Martin, help lift him up and pull him back down in equal measure, with equal enthusiasm. Martin buries his face into Peter’s neck, trying to muffle the desperate sounds he’s making. 

It doesn’t take long for them to finish. Peter mutters meaningless nothings into Martin’s skin. Martin twists his hands in salt and pepper hair as he shudders apart in Peter’s arms. 

Annoyingly, Peter seems disinclined to leave Martin be once it’s time to tidy up. He hovers, fingers catching Martin’s belt loops, his hair, the neck of his sweater. After the third sloppy kiss on his neck, Martin pointedly pushes Peter away and picks up the man’s discarded belt. When Peter refuses to take it, staring at Martin with a smile that’s slightly less bland than his usual, Martin merely rolls his eyes and steps in close to do it himself. 

It is, of course, a trap, and Peter pulls Martin in for one last, deep kiss. Martin goes along with it, begrudgingly appreciating the texture of Peter’s beard against his lips. 

Abruptly, Peter steps back and moves away. “I do believe we have company,” he says. 

Martin licks his lips and follows. “About time,” he sighs, and they both go out to meet Peter’s contacts. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
